


Losing to Win

by shiverelectric



Series: a Stick and a Leaf [1]
Category: Inception
Genre: M/M, and porn of many varieties, in which there is strip poker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiverelectric/pseuds/shiverelectric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Eames play a card game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing to Win

**Author's Note:**

> Written by my lovely cowriter Eleniatallah and myself. Originally posted at astickandaleaf on lj. Not betaed.

It was nearing midnight and Arthur was still fast at work when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Taking it out, he saw it was a multimedia message sent from Eames. The fact that it was from Eames should have tipped him off to just ignore the message, but Arthur couldn’t just let it go without knowing what the forger wanted him to have in the middle of the night. Upon opening the message however, Arthur saw that he should have left it alone.  
  
He immediately sent a reply text to the forger, [ _You care to explain why you sent me a picture like that?_ ]  
  
[text msg] : Because I'd thought you'd like it, darling. You don't?  
  
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, tempted to cross the short hallway to the forger's room to pitch his phone at him, but decided not to because of what he might see. [ _I'm not sure what gave you the impression that I wanted a half-naked picture of you on my phone. Is this a new game to see how disturbed you can make me from a room away?_ ]  
  
[text msg]: I can feel the aura of your perturbed state all the way over here. It is great fun, I am so bored.  
  
[ _I don't know why you would be bored, don't you have work to do?_ ] Arthur replied, knowing that even if Eames did have work to do he’d still find time to bother him.  
  
[text msg]: I did my work already. Now I'm just watching telly. There's nothing good on except Project Runway.  
  
Arthur flipped his laptop closed, because unlike some people he did have work to do, but because of some people it was unlikely he was going to get to finish. He pushed his chair out and sent another message. [ _You do realize then that you're free to go where ever you like during your down time._ ]  
  
[text msg]: I think I'd rather stay here. There's a jacuzzi in my room. But it's not as fun by myself.  
  
What Arthur couldn’t see was the shit-eating grin on Eames’ face as he hit send from his own hotel room. He leaned pack and took a peak into the bathroom. Nope, still no jacuzzi in there.  
  
Arthur raised his eyebrow, wondering how the hell Eames managed to get a room like that without him knowing it. Then, considering both the odds of Eames's ceaseless pestering until he was satisfied with his daily quota of annoying Arthur and how nice it would be to relax this late in the evening, he replied, [ _A jacuzzi? If you spent some time in it would you leave me be for the rest of the night?_ ]  
  
[text msg]: Only if I was not by myself. Have you ever been in one by yourself? Miserable, absolutely miserable.  
  
Eames almost included, ‘unless you have the means to make it fun by yourself’, but deleted it at the last minute before sending it.  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes. [ _Fine, start it up, I'll be over in 2 minutes._ ] He clicks his phone closed, and as he realized what he'd agreed to, he brought a hand to his face and groaned. _D_ _amn you, Eames_ he thought to himself as he grabbed his key, slipping out the door on his way to the forger's room.  
  
Eames’ phone vibrated and he picked it up, flipped it open ,and read the reply Arthur sent. He had to shake his head and read it again, because he wasn’t sure it was real. Before he could reach for his chip, there was a sharp rap at the door, and he was up, crashing through the hotel room towards it. Hitting his shin on the table elicited a “Bloody Hell!” from him along the way.  
  
He eventually got there and opened it. He took a minute to catch his breath. He was dressed in a white cotton button down, untucked, and grey trousers. His face broke out in a huge grin.  
  
“Well. I didn’t expect you to actually come.”  
  
Arthur leaned against the door frame, looking Eames up and down with a slightly bored expression on his face. While Eames’ outfit was lax as always, at least it wasn’t some terrible paisley pattern. “You were the one bothering me while I was working, so, here I am to entertain you. I can spare a small amount of time if it means I can get back to work in peace.”  
  
“You? Entertain me?” His hand shot to his pocket and felt his chip. Real. He looked back up at Arthur. “Tell me, am I dead?”  
  
“You will be if after this you don't leave me alone,” Arthur mildly threatened, crossing his arms. “So, are you going to invite me inside?  
  
Eames looked Arthur over. God, it was midnight and the man was still looked like a picture from a men's catalog. Not a thread nor hair out of place. Texting the man had been the best decision of the night, or maybe the only good decision, considering the half bottle of scotch he had just consumed.  
  
"Always the witty one, Arthur. Don't worry. I'm ecstatic you're actually here in the first place. Please, come in." Eames stepped aside and let Arthur through into his room. One of the two beds had the covers strewn about, and Eames' suitcase was open in the corner, the contents messed with, but otherwise the room looked sort of tidy.  
  
Arthur stepped inside, gave the place a cursory glance and frowned. The room was neat, nothing really out of place except for a bed that looked like Eames might have just rolled out of it, but it was wrong all the same.  
  
The room was exactly like his. Which meant there was no jacuzzi.  
  
"Eames, you're a goddamn liar, you know that?" he said as he made his way to sit at one of the chairs at the table, more surprised at himself for getting his hopes of relaxation up (though really, trying to relax around Eames was a contradiction if he ever knew one) than at the forger's gall to lie and cajole him into coming over.  
  
Eames laughed out loud at Arthur's disdain, a tone of Arthur's voice he had always enjoyed.  
  
"I apologize, Arthur. I could've sworn there was a jacuzzi in here. Guess I was wrong, huh?" He chuckled and sat down opposite Arthur, grabbing the bottle of scotch. "Would you like a drink instead? Maybe with a little liquid inspiration you could... imagine one."  
  
"I'm not sure any amount of 'liquid inspiration' can convince me that the bathtub is suddenly a jacuzzi, Eames," he replied evenly. He always found it so infuriating the way the other man seemed to overly enjoy the barbs and purposely provoke him for more. "But I will have a drink. Just one drink, I don't need to end up with a hangover as a coda to this night."  
  
Eames chuckled as he dumped some ice cube in a glass and poured the scotch over it. He then slid it over the hard oak table to Arthur, leaving a shiny trail of condensation behind.  
  
"Now, now. A little imagination can do wonderful things. Such as put all the men on a show on BBC into waistcoats." He smirked, but did not meet Arthur's eyes.  
  
Arthur bristled, and took a sharp swig of the bitter liquid. "Well, when I said I would entertain you, I didn't think it would be as the butt of your jokes."  
  
He downed the rest of the scotch in one gulp, and rose to leave. "Thanks for the drink, but I'm pretty sure this was a mistake."  
  
Eames rose to meet Arthur, his expression now stone serious, and yet conflicted.  
  
"I apologize. I have been impossibly rude, inviting you here and being snide. Please forgive me. You came here hoping to relax, right? Maybe I can make it up to you."  
  
Arthur stilled, taken aback by Eames sudden change in attitude. He wasn't sure what his expression meant, but at least he seemed like he wanted to make amends.  
  
"Just, pour me another drink."  
  
Eames tipped the last of the scotch into Arthur's empty glass, and gently handed it to Arthur. He let his fingers brush up against Arthur's as he passed it to him. The sensitivity of alcohol make the contact send bolts of electricity through Eames's fingers, but he tried to ignore it.  
  
He waited until Arthur had sat back down before he got up and moved behind Arthur. Arthur gave him a look, but before he could stare long Eames had placed big hands on Arthur's shoulders and got to work, moving his fingers in meaningful squeezes and pushes.  
  
Arthur stiffened and his first thoughts were that he was being attacked. Then he realized with a jolt of embarrassment that it was a massage.  
  
"This isn't really necessary, Eamessss--oh," he wanted to say, but the strong hands at his shoulders, it wasn't like anything he'd ever felt before. Not that he'd gotten many, if any massages before, but the fingers working at his neck seemed to be drawing lines of tension out of Arthur's body.  
  
Eames felt Arthur's muscles loosen and slack under his hands. It was an unusual experience to see the point man's facade weaken under his own power. It both excited him and concerned him in his fairly inebriated state.  
  
"That's it, love, just relax. It's not a hot tub, but, I hope it will do." He rubbed Arthur's shoulders a little bit more, then found that the thick fabric of Arthur's vest was getting in the way. "Arthur, I would be able to move onto your back better without this," he said, finger sliding underneath the collar of the waistcoat.  
  
Arthur opened eyes he wasn't even aware he'd closed. "W-what? Oh, my vest…" He shrugged out of the waistcoat, wrapping it across the back of the chair and leaned forward in the chair, bent over to give Eames all the access to his back that he wanted.  
  
Arthur distantly had a thought that it was possible that Eames had discovered something about himself that he didn't even know.  
  
Eames felt as if he'd won the lottery. If only he'd known it was that easy to subdue Arthur and get him to take his clothes off! That was a thought the forger miraculously kept inside his mind as placed his palms into Arthur's back and set to work again, making sure to hit all the major pressure points.  
  
Arthur moaned as Eames's hands worked a magic he never would have known he possessed. Maybe it's a good thing, too, otherwise who knows what Arthur would have done to have this whenever he'd like?  
  
"Eames, ooh, that's, that's…nnnngh..."  
  
Fifteen minutes went by. Eames patted Arthur's back as he finished with his last pressure point. Arthur was laying cheek-to-table on the table.  
  
"Arthur? Are you asleep?"  
  
Arthur groaned, and brought his hand to his mouth, surprised to find he'd begun drooling.  
  
"W-what, no, I'm awake, I think I might have dozed off…" he said, trying to gather composure around himself like a security blanket. "Where did you learn to do that?"  
  
Eames pretended not to notice the drool, as he chuckled and patted Arthur's back, making the other man flinch a tiny bit.  
  
"I learned in China. Did you enjoy that?"  
  
Arthur nodded, eyes blinking lazily. "That is, uh, quite some technique. I've never," he cleared his throat, not knowing what words to say that could express the pleasure he felt from the forger's hands. And even if he knew the words, he wasn’t not sure he'd say them. Instead he settled for, "Thank you, Eames."  
  
Eames was quite startled to hear those words out of Arthur's mouth. He smiled despite himself.  
  
"You... you're welcome, Arthur. Always a pleasure."  


Arthur looked away from the beaming man beside him and made a small noncommittal hum. He grabbed his glass and downed the rest of the contents in one go. The amber liquid burned its way down to settle in the pit of his stomach alongside a matching, similar low burn.  
  
He shifted in his seat, and swirled the remaining ice cubes in his glass. "Do you have anything else to drink here?"  
  
Eames took the seat opposite Arthur again, peering into the bottle of scotch. He made a face and shrugged.  
  
"I'm sorry, love. It appears you've drank all of my alcohol. I'm not sure I should even give you anymore, anyway. You're looking a little lopsided."  
  
Arthur shook his head, and then realized he was a bit light-headed and tipsy. Not quite drunk, exactly, just, easier to let go.  
  
"I can handle my alcohol, Eames, but thanks for your concern," he shrugged, then took another glance around the room. "So, I can spare an hour or two; do you want to play cards or something?" he asked.  
  
Eames smiled at Arthur, drumming his fingers lightly on the table. He reached up and mindlessly played with the next done button on his shirt, unbuttoning it.  
  
"That sounds lovely. Do you happen to have a pack?"  
  
Arthur almost missed the question entirely, his attention focused on the forger's hands playing at the button of his shirt. When the button became undone and exposed just a bit more of Eames' skin underneath, his breath hitched in his throat, and he noticed the forger's eyes watching him. He had a sudden shock of bashfulness and hoped that Eames hadn't noticed the way he was staring at him.  
  
"Um, yeah, I pack a set whenever I travel, it helps with boredom, I'll go grab them now," he rambled all in one breath and rose from the chair a bit too fast to be casual. He grabbed his vest and made his way to the door, calling over his shoulder, "I'll just be two minutes."  
  
Eames watched Arthur go, feeling a small shudder of excitement at the power he had just discovered. He now had a new favorite game to play: drive Arthur absolutely nuts. He grinned to himself and waited for Arthur to return.  
  
Arthur stumbled out of the door and as soon as it was closed he leaned heavily against it, knocking his head lightly on the worn wood. He closed his eyes and waited for his chest to stop feeling so tight.  
  
After a moment, he crossed the hallway into his room, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. He crossed quickly to his open suitcase on the bureau, laid his waistcoat aside it, and grabbed the deck he carried with him everywhere. He started to make his way back to Eames's room, but as an afterthought grabbed the full bottle of scotch from his mini fridge. Items in hand, he went back across the way and knocked on the door.  
  
Eames opened the door for Arthur again, and grinned at the other man's sway and the bottle of scotch clutched in his hand.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to be trying to drink me into a more attractive person, would you?" he purred, gently putting a hand on Arthur's back as he went inside.  
  
Arthur shivered at the touch and a small giggle (a giggle? what the hell was wrong with him?) escaped him. He cleared his throat to cover it up and said lightly with a smirk, "No, I'm not really in the mood for alcohol poisoning tonight. This is to level the playing field. I wouldn't want you sulking all night and day because I'd beaten you so badly at cards."  
  
Eames made a bemused face that wrinkled the corner of his eyes. He absentmindedly scratched at his collar bone.  
  
"You think I'm rotten at cards, eh? Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?"  
  
Arthur's mouth went completely dry. Maybe he'd had too much or too little scotch. He simply nodded and sat back at the table, refilling both his and Eames's glass. "What do you want to play?" he asked when he trusted his voice to be mostly even.  
  
"I think we should play poker." Eames responded calmly, watching Arthur drink. "You're familiar with the game, are you not?"  
  
Arthur swallowed, barely even registering the slow burn of the drink and took another swig automatically to moisten his mouth. "Of course. You can even deal first hand," he added offhand.  
  
Eames took the deck of cards out of Arthur's hand and started to shuffle them. However it soon became apparent that he was squinting at them.  
  
"Ah. Hold on a second." He reached into the bag next to the table and pulled out a case. He slipped a pair of rimless glasses onto his nose, and continued to nonchalantly shuffle then deal the cards.  
  
Arthur, who had been again drawn to the movements of the forger's hands shuffling, nearly choked on the scotch when he saw Eames slip the glasses on his face, easy as anything, and then return to shuffling with his hypnotic hands.  
  
"Wh-what are those?" he asked around the hand he'd brought up to his mouth, urge to bite into his fist steadily climbing as Eames looked at him over the glasses.  
  
Eames gave him a coy smile. "They're my reading glasses, darling. I'm afraid reading without them gives me a terrible headache." He continued to smile to himself as he dealt Arthur his first hand, and then his own.  
  
"Surely you've seen folk wear them before?" he added.  
  
Arthur closed his slightly agape mouth and picked up his cards. "I do, I just meant, I've never seen you wear them before," he finished a bit lamely, looking at his hand, which was shit, but Eames didn't have to know that.  
  
Then he frowned as he realized something. "What are we betting anyway?"  
  
Eames sat back, looking down at his hand and slipping a hand in between the buttons of his shirt. He grinned.  
  
"I just got them a week ago. I'm not partial to wearing them around the team, don't want them thinking I'm smarter than you, Arthur," he chuckled.  
  
"I'm just kidding, love. As for the bets, I suppose we could start with change, and work our way up?"  
  
"Ah, y-yeah, that's fine…" Arthur stammered out, hand blindly reaching for his glass of scotch, only to find he had emptied it sometime in the past few minutes. But he could hardly be blamed when Eames was sitting there, doing -that- with his hand, it was very nearly indecent.  
  
Arthur poured himself another glass, then reached into his pocket for his change. "I have," he began, counting the various few coins, "about $1.13. I should be able to get a hand or two out of that."  
  
Eames pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and added in a few quarters and a half-dollar. He leaned back and continued to play with his buttons, undoing two of them, then doing them back up, then putting them back. He also let a few fingers run down his neck every once in awhile. He watched Arthur's reactions and distinct lack of poker face with relish, enjoying the sight to a high degree. Needless to say, Arthur's money was gone in twenty minutes.  
  
Arthur isn't sure what happened in the blur of hands dealing cards and moving and a number of things that Arthur is sure he'll remember for times when he's alone, but he'd lost every hand, even when he began playing a bit cautiously to conserve change.  
  
"I think.." he began, meeting Eames in the eye and then quickly looking away, "I think somewhere in there you were cheating."  
  
Eames made a pouty face as he finally undid the two buttons he'd been teasing Arthur with. He then rested his fingers on his forehead as he gazed over his cards, leaning back on his chair.  
  
"Cheating? You slander me, Arthur. I would never cheat. Maybe we just need to raise the stakes a little bit."  
  
Arthur licked his lips. He'd take another drink of scotch, but it'd been failing him so far in quenching his unexplainable thirst.  
  
"What do we have left to wager? Our clothes?" he said with a half-laugh, half-hysterical fantasy that just came up out of nowhere, and why oh why did he say that?  
  
"Have you ever played strip poker, Arthur?" Eames asked with a coy grin, undoing another button.  
  
It's almost a subconscious response that Arthur's eyes immediately trained themselves on the deft fingers undoing yet another button, and he vaguely noted that before long Eames would run out of them.  
  
He shook his head to clear himself of his stupor, and replied, "N-no…but I'd heard about people doing it in college…"  
  
"Would you like to try it?" Eames said in a sultry voice, leaning forward a little and looking up at Arthur above his glasses.  
  
Like the pull of a strong magnet, Arthur leaned forward ever so slightly. Or maybe it's even more like gravity as he felt himself falling and falling towards something bigger than he is, or was, and maybe even ever will be singularly. He can't trust his voice, not when those eyes look at him like _that_ over _those_ while his fingers do _that there_ , so he settles for nodding as uneagerly as possible.  
  
Eames laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "All right then. First hand." He cleared his throat then shuffled several cards to Arthur. Within ten minutes, Eames cupped his chin in his hand and looked coyly at Arthur.  
  
"All right, darling. You lose. It's time to lose that shirt."  
  
Arthur's mouth dropped as he looked at the cards on the table. He couldn't believe it, but he wasn't going to let Eames have the satisfaction of seeing him wimp out of anything. Fascination or not, he wouldn't lose this particular battle of wills.  
  
Locking eyes with the forger, he raised his left wrist, undoing the cufflink, then switched to the right cufflink, placing them on the table. He brought his fingers up to his collar, loosening his tie before he began working on the buttons, drawing out the process and taking much longer than was strictly necessary.  
  
Now it was Eames' turn to squirm, as he watched the point man take off his shirt. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead and he tugged at his collar. He should've known Arthur would pick up on his game, fast, and turn the tables on him. Well, two could play at that game. If he was so good at tilting the tables in his favor, he could turn them against himself, too.  
  
"Looks like I have to shed a layer as well," he said in an extremely noncommittal voice. His hands went up and he started on the buttons.  
  
Arthur was completely fixated on the way Eames' fingers seemed to flirt with the buttons before caressing them through the buttonholes. With each button removed, Arthur felt a dull throbbing settle deep in his stomach and lower.  
  
Eames finished the buttons and then slowly moved his hands into the shirt and started to slide it off his shoulder, slowly revealing his tanned skin and black ink zigzagging over collarbone, his shoulder, his arm. He finally got the shirt all the way off and tossed it aside.  
  
Arthur couldn't control the half-strangled groan he let out at the sight of Eames shirtless. He shifted in his seat, lacing his fingers together and leaning on the table with his elbows. "I never knew..." Arthur began as neutrally as possible, dragging his eyes up and down the forger's torso of elegant ink and toned muscles, licking his lips, "..that you had gotten so many new tattoos, Mr Eames."  
  
A wicked grin slowly spread across his face when he heard the groan, which seemed to light up his whole face as he leaned forward on the table on his elbows. He lifted a hand and trailed the celtic lines of the one on his right shoulder, slowly with one finger.  
  
"You like....?" he asked in a smoky voice.  
  
Arthur's eyes shone brightly as he followed the pattern of swirl the finger traced on his skin. "They, suit you well," he replied as smoothly as possible, though his voice began to deepen just the slightest. He moved one of his hands to rest near his collar bone, while gathering the cards up with his other hand. "Shall we continue?"  
  
Arthur leaned back in the chair and began to shuffle the cards slowly, eyes flicking up every so often to meet Eames' eyes. He was in a conundrum; if he lost, he'd have to disrobe yet another article and feel the forger's eyes like a physical touch -- but if he won, then Eames would undress in that tantalizingly hypnotic way, making Arthur feel just the dirtiest for watching him.  
  
He decided he'd have to just deal the cards and let them go as they may.  
  
Eames continued to grin devilishly at Arthur, meeting Arthur's eyes whenever he looked up, leaning back on the back legs of his chair. Now, with no buttons to play with, he placed a hand on his stomach, gently drumming his fingers on the taut skin there. After seven minutes, he placed his hand face up on the table.  
  
"Royal flush, Arthur," he said, his voice laden with taunting.  


Arthur wasn't surprised. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate on anything while sitting across from the topless forger. His skin, tanned from his time spent in Mombasa, no doubt, seemed to ripple with muscle at every movement he made, like a prowling jungle cat.  
  
"You win another hand," he said, meeting Eames's burning eyes defiantly. "Another layer from me, then." He stood up from the table slowly, hands trailing down to the top of his suit pants, bulge evident even through the smooth fabric.  
  
His fingers hooked into the strap of his belt, unhooking it and then pulled it out of the loops slowly. He undid the top bottom, and slowly pulling the zipper down. He slid his thumbs around the waistband, loosening them enough to let the pants fall gracefully to the floor, stepping out of them, shoes and all. Then, feeling just the slightest bit bashful, he sat down before Eames could stare at him in just his boxer briefs.  
  
Eames watched Arthur remove his pants as if he were watching the most interesting thing in the world, wearing a grin that was halfway between smug, and completely entranced. He folded his hands on his stomach and by the way his knuckles were turning white it was obvious he was not just resting them there for no reason.  
  
He made a soft grunting noise in the back of his throat as he watched the hotel room's light dance off Arthur's milky skin, as he dropped his pants, and then quickly sat down. But there was no hiding an erection in boxer briefs, no matter how fast you were.  
  
He took off his glasses slowly and cleaned them on his pants, smiling to himself. "You look quite ridiculous with just shoes on, darling, take those off too."  
  
Arthur colored a faint red, and said a bit too breathily, "This is strip poker, Eames, and I didn't see you win another hand yet." He scooted his chair closer to the table, one hand on his thigh a bit too close to be considered casually placed. "So, either take your own shoes off first or beat them off me."  
  
He grinned when Arthur mentioned "beating them off". "Don't tempt me, Arthur," he purred, and gave him a pouted look, accentuated times ten by his full lips. "But I'm not wearing shoes."  
  
He lifted one leg to reveal he was indeed, barefoot. "I'm at an obvious disadvantage. The least you could do is even the score."  
  
Arthur pursed his lips, his grip on his thigh tightening. Why was it that Eames was always so logical during the most inopportune times? "Somehow I doubt you're at a huge disadvantage, Eames," he muttered sulkily. Why did he have to be losing, and to Eames, with his hands and glasses and smooth attitude?  
  
Arthur lifted one foot to the table and deftly untied the laces and removed the shoe, followed by the other foot and shoe. He placed his shoes next to his chair and was left with wearing nothing but his underwear and socks.  
  
"That's better," he said quietly, sliding his glasses back on. He smiled to himself and hummed nonchalantly as he dealt the next hand.  
  
Arthur swallowed against a lump in his throat and averted his gaze from Eames. Arthur knew he was playing a game with him, separate from poker, but he himself wasn't sure what would come of it. Or what he himself even wanted to come from it. All he knew was that he was more wound up than he'd been in a very long time and it was Eames steadily tightening his wires.  
  
As Eames dealt the cards, he took the moment to look at the forger, to really see him. He was annoying most of the time, badly dressed nearly all of the time, but begrudgingly fun to be around all of the time. If Arthur wanted to be really truthfully with himself, he even admired those qualities of Eames's that seemed to irk him the most.  
  
He looked at Eames over the top of his cards, but while in such a state of undress and Eames' himself shirtless and wearing impossibly attractive glasses, it did nothing but add to the fire growing in his groin. He surreptitiously adjusted himself, trying not to let a groan become too audible. His hand wasn't bad at all. In fact, he could probably win it…  
  
"I fold," Arthur said, looking away and placing his cards face down on the table. "You win, Eames."  
  
Eames was a forger. If there was anything he knew, it was a bluff. And he caught that bluff as soon as Arthur had placed the cards on the table. The empty bottles of scotch now sat on the floor, making small puddles of alcohol at their mouths, and both men felt the warm fire of it in their bellies. Eames looked at Arthur, not smiling for the first time that night. Instead, his expression was somewhere between serious and placid. He made a noise of approval, shrugged, and placed his cards on the table.  
  
He stood up and stretched, his muscles long and lithe under the tattoos and the skin and the smatterings of hair. He murmured and suddenly he was leaning over the table, palms face down on the wood, staring intensely at Arthur. His eyes were somewhat bloodshot from the alcohol, but they were full of the passion and intensity Eames was famous for. The coy smile returned to his features.  
  
"That's not very fair to you... is it?" he whispered.  
  
Arthur met Eames' eyes fully, drawn in by what he saw there, and could not deny the twitch he felt in his groin. Eames was close enough that Arthur could feel his warm breath ghosting over his skin, and his thoughts filled with what that same breath would feel like on other places of his body.  
  
Arthur tilted his head, and murmured softly, "Interesting that you think me missing out on seeing you strip is unfair." Leaning forward, he reached out with his hand, and gently hooked a finger into Eames' khakis. "Did you want to do something to remedy that?"  
  
Something in the forger snapped. He reached out, gently touching Arthur's face. When Arthur did not recoil, he kissed him full on the mouth, deeply.  
  
When he pulled away, he smiled, delirious. "I didn't know you had such.... bravery, in you, darling." His fingers travelled down and skirted Arthur's neck. " _But I like it._ "  
  
Arthur moaned without any disguise at the touch. After an entire night of teasing, to feel Eames' fingers on his skin, it was like he'd been walking across a wool floor, gathering static electricity until it was finally discharged in one grand shock. But Arthur knew he was far from spent, wanting to feel the delightful sparks all over his burning skin.  
  
Arthur reached up, grabbing Eames by the hair and pulling him in for another kiss, blown away by the versatility of the other man's tongue. After a moment, he removed his mouth, much to the disappointed groan Eames made, but Arthur was too busy trailing kisses along his jaw up to his ear, where he nipped him lightly. "You've been fucking with me the whole night, Eames. Every man has a breaking point," he said hotly in the forger's ear before licking a wet stripe on the sensitive skin just below.  
  
Eames let out a shuddering, shaking breath as he felt Arthur's mouth move along his jaw and ear. He tried to laugh, but it sounded a bit more like a strangled cry.  
  
"Seeing your hot little ass sitting across me, drunk and so turned on, wasn't exactly a picnic for me, either, pet." he breathed. "I knew I had to bide my time." He wrapped an arm around Arthur's neck and nipped at his ear. "But I have to say, I wasn't expecting this when I texted you a few hours ago."  
  
Arthur sucked in a breath through his teeth at the bite on his ear. He stood and moved around the table to press himself closer to Eames, feeling him through the layer of pants he still wore, and his own cock was visibly straining against the thin fabric of his boxer briefs.  
  
"Undress. Now," Arthur said, his tone of voice similar to when he's instructing the team on something vitally important, though this time the urgency was related more to him needing to see and feel more of the infuriating, alluring forger.  
  
Eames wrapped one arm around Arthur, pulling him close so his breath was hot against Arthur's neck, but the metal of his glasses was cold. He used the other hand to slide a few fingers into his waist band and tug at it.  
  
"I think I'm going to need a little help. This belt, you see, it's very tricky." he whispered, his own voice strangled with the sudden onslaught of Arthur pressing himself against him.  
  
Arthur inhaled deeply, his cock throbbing at the contact with Eames' body. He moved his mouth to the forger's neck, licking wet line up to his jaw and he moved one hand to Eames' belt to undo the simple latch and loop, his other hand scratching nails down his back.  
  
"You're such a goddamn _liar_ , Eames," he said as the belt loosened easily under his hand, mouth licking into Eames' open mouth.  
  
"My goddamn lying is what led you over here in the first place," He laughed lightly, shuddering and arching his back against the pain and pleasure that Arthur's fingers brought him. With a fast movement, he slide the pants roughly off his hips, revealing the blue boxers, made of silk, with amazingly no print on them at all.  
  
"You're the liar, Arthur," he said. "Pretending you weren't interested. How very cruel. I have a feeling you're going to surprise me tonight, aren't you?"  
  
"There's a lot about me that you don't know, Eames," Arthur replied, sliding one knee in between Eames' legs, making him spread them wider. At Eames' reaction, he bit down on his bottom lip and groaned.  
  
"Take these off," he said, one hand palming heavily against Eames's hard cock through his boxers. giving Eames another firm squeeze. "I want to see all of you." He gave the forger another firm squeeze." And then take mine off."  
  
He gasped at Arthur's touch, then laughed, and shook his head, small pants escaping from his mouth. "You're just full of delightful surprises, aren't you?" he said, thumbing his waist band and sliding them off.  
  
He placed his palm against Arthur's stomach and slid it down, gently stroking along his length before lowering his hand and bringing the underwear down with it.  
  
Arthur arched into Eames' sure touch, his skin ablaze where Eames fingers slid. The same sure touch that had wrought him into a mess with just a back massage was touching his aching cock. He wasn't sure when he'd ever been as hard as he was now. And judging by how heavy the forger felt in his own hand, he could probably say the same for him.  
  
Arthur licked his lips and placed his other hand on Eames' shoulder with a firmness. Eames quirked an eyebrow, but lowered himself to his knees in front of the point man. Even smiling up at him from the floor Eames was a cocky bastard that Arthur, but he knew other uses the forger could put his mouth to.  
  
He leaned forward, pressing against Eames' full lips, expectantly.  
  
He gripped Arthur's hip firmy with one hand and took his length into his mouth, first starting with long, slow sucks, and alternating between sucking sharply on the tip. He used his other hand to help at the base, and then brushing his fingers against his balls. He watched Arthur's reactions, watching the other man gasp and shudder, before he decided it was enough, giving the tip a final lick, and then smiling coyly up at Arthur.  
  
"Oooh, you fucking cock tease," Arthur growled out at Eames, placing both hands on his shoulders and pushing him down to the floor fully and straddled him, cocks pressed together sending frissons of pleasure through out his body. He ran his hands all over the forger's chest as he began to rock back and forth on top of Eames.  
  
He leaned forward, and began to trail kisses and well-placed licks down his torso until he was ghosting hot breath over Eames' cock, which was already beginning to leak with pre-cum. He smiled up at the forger and lowered his head, but instead of making contact with the jutting eager member, he pressed his mouth to his inner thigh and licked.  
  
He growled and made soft moaning noises at Arthur's skill, sweat starting to roll down his neck and bead over his tattoos. When Arthur had made it down to his cock, he wound his fingers in his hair and tugged, his other hand gripping the nearby table leg.  
  
"W-who's the c-cock tease now..." he gasped, in a tone that was half shocked, and half begging.  
  
Arthur smiled as he continued to evade the eagerly awaiting to be touched erection. He switched to nip at the other thigh, then licked slowly up and up, but never quite making it. At Eames' strangled gasping, he slid a hand up Eames' body towards his mouth, pressing two fingers against the forger's open mouth.  
  
"Ungh. _Arthur_ ," he breathed. " _Fuck._ " He tugged sharply on Arthur's hair, arching his back as he felt his hand travel up his bare stomach. When they reached his mouth, he took them in his mouth and sucked, hard. Memories of the blow job he had given just minutes ago exploded in Arthur's mind.  
  
Arthur looked up at Eames, absorbed in the way Eames' mouth took him in so readily and with such power. Then he lowered his head, nuzzling into Eames' heated groin and exhaled, his own hot breath like a caress over the forger's balls.  
  
Underneath him Eames bucked, and with the steady, deliberate slowness, suckled one sac into his mouth, tongue moving over and around the quivering forger.  
  
He breathed in quickly and bucked his hips against his breath, his touch. He lifted his legs and wrapped them tightly around the other man. He relished every stroke and lick, let the sensations take over his body and let his mind spiral into a big swirling lake of pleasure.  
  
He tried to talk, tried to tell Arthur how he made him feel, how he felt like he was going to explode. But all that came out of his mouth were strangled gasps, Arthur's name, and the occasional swear word.  
  
Arthur groaned low in his throat, impossibly turned on by the way the forger was reacting to his touches and teasing. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he thought it was about time he made the forger feel even more lost in pleasure as Arthur had felt earlier from just a simple massage.  
  
Smirk growing, he disentangled himself from Eames' leg lock and rubbed the other man's thighs. "Eames," Arthur began, voice nearly hoarse with want, "roll onto your hands and knees…"  
  
He took a deep breath, then pushed himself up on his elbows, looking at Arthur with wild eyes, wide open and unblinking. He was panting, and quickly swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and exhaled.  
  
"Be gentle with me, love," he said, in a voice that he tried to disguise as smooth, but was tinged with suggestion. He gave a small smile, then rolled over onto his hands and knees, and started to take his glasses off.  
  
Watching Eames turn over was an image that Arthur would hold in his head for years, if not forever. To think he'd ever see Eames in such a subservient position, he had to roughly palm himself to calm down.  
  
He leaned up on his knees behind Eames, cock pressed hard in the cleft of Eames' ass as he reached up and placed his hands on the forger's shoulders. He buried his left hand into Eames's surprisingly soft hair and trailed his right hand slowly down the arching back, rocking softly against the other man, not enough to get much closer to the edge, but a steadiness to remind Eames of how much he wanted him.  
  
Then he pulled back, resting both hands on the rise of Eames' backside. He could feel the forger shiver under his touch. With his right hand he rubbed comforting circles on Eames's cheek, and then moved his hand away. Then in a snap he brought his hand down in a sharp smack across his ass.  
  
Eames yelled out in surprise, almost coming to the edge, but sucking in a deep breath to stave it off. He laughed. His laughter was high and giddy, and he looked back at Arthur shaking his head.  
  
"God, you're amazing," he whispered. He arched his back against his fingers. One of his tattoos was a foreign symbol, and it trailed long links of black ink down one side of his back, and his skin shone with persperation.  
  
" _Again._ "  
  
Arthur growled, rolling his hips against Eames as he brought his hand up again, and then firmly down in a snap. The whack was loud enough to drown out the moans Eames was making and the groaning Arthur could not hold back. He followed up with two more whacks, then ran his fingers soothingly over the harsh red skin.  
  
He leaned over the other man and asked breathily in his ear, "Did you like that?" He didn't bother waiting for a response before moving his mouth down Eames's back, licking the lines of his tattoo until he reached the angry red skin, licking softly to ease the sting.  
  
"Yes, yes, god, fuck..." Eames breathed, flinching as Arthur licked the red skin, then shivering in intense pleasure. "You're fucking _amazing..._ " He took a deep breath and reached down to try and still his aching member that was desperate for release.  
  
"Please, just _do it_. Before I come apart..." he groaned and leaned back against Arthur, feeling his own hard erection against his ass.  
  
Arthur smiled, fingers digging into Eames' hips. At the forger's pleading tones he pulled back, because he didn't want this to hurt him, and placed his hands on his ass and spread his cheeks apart, then lowered his mouth to Eames's puckered asshole.  
  
He flicked his tongue out, testing Eames' resolve to not immediately cum in his hand and to wait for him. He knew the other man was on the edge and how painful it must have been to hold off for so long, but Arthur couldn't help but delight in preparing his lover this way, tongue gently stretching and slicking.  
  
He squeezed both hands on the forger's ass, and then quickly aligned his cock at Eames' entrance. He leaned over Eames' back, one hand on his hip and the other wrapped around his chest. Then, shifting his weight back, he swung Eames up into a sitting position onto his shaft, sliding his hand from the forger's hip to grip his cock firmly.  
  
The rimjob surprised Eames greatly, and he started a little at first, but then was quickly overcome by the pleasure magnified by how sensitive he already was. He had no idea Arthur was so _damn kinky_ , and that just drove him absolutely crazy.  
  
He could also almost feel Arthur's pleasure in teasing him, and he knew he deserved it. Yes, it hurt now, but he knew that like himself Arthur always had the end in mind. When he finally moved into position to enter him, he breathed a deep sigh of relief, quickly followed by a strangled noise when he felt a hand wrap around his cock.  
  
" _Fuck, Arthur.._ " He gasped.  
  
Arthur hissed as he became completely sheathed within Eames's tight heat, equally enjoying the way his name sounded from Eames's lips when in such a state of rapture. His hand began to gently pump Eames in time to the shallow thrusts he was able to manage in the position.  
  
"Eames, I need..I need you to move with me," he whispered as he began to show him how, pushing the both of them to a near-kneeling position and then back down to their ankles. Soon they began a rhythm where Arthur was able to pull out more till just the head was inside him, and then meet Eames' downward push with his upward force, and with just one more shift of his leg, Arthur was able to angle himself deeper into the forger, and his reaction showed that he'd hit that sensitive spot of pure pleasure in Eames.  
  
"Annh..." he gasped as Arthur entered him, lifting his head and closing his eyes as fireworks exploded underneath his eyelids. Arthur's voice sounded like so distant, and he had to strain to hear his instructions, but eventually started to follow them obediently, letting Arthur lead him back and forth like a well-oiled machine, listening to Arthur's own gasps and moans and taking great pleasure in hearing them uttered from his usually oh-so-serious mouth.  
  
Finally, Arthur hit gold, and it was extremely evident as it was the final straw for Eames. He cried out and arched his back, his world red underneath his eyelids. He spilled his load all over the floor and Arthur's hand, followed by a quick sucking in of breath, like he had forgotten how to breath.  
  
As Eames rode through his explosion, his muscles clenching rapidly around Arthur and dragging him with him, it was Eames' exclamations falling off his lips that pushed him over the edge. "Oh, god, Eamesss…"  
  
He wrapped his free hand around Eames's chest as they rode out their orgasms, his mouth pressing kisses to the other man's shoulders as he slowed his other hand around the spent forger. He kissed a path up his neck, and breathed hotly in his ear, "Eames?"  
  
Eames was busy trying to get the world to stop spinning. He moved his muscles a little bit and found he was extremely stiff. He stopped moving for now and sucked in a breath, and turned his head slightly into Arthur's.  
  
"Yes, darling?" He said softly, his voice dripping with an exhaustion that was purely filled with love and pleasure. Arthur's lips sent electric sparks shooting through his skin.  
  
Arthur pressed his lips against Eames’s lazily, as he was so sated with the man wrapped in his arms. "You're so beautiful, Eames," he murmured, eyes closing blissfully.  
  
Eames slowly sat up, arching his back slowly, and sat back against Arthur, using the other man as a sweaty, naked back rest. He leaned his head against Arthur’s shoulder, and gave a deep, satisfied sigh, pressing his check into the other’s man’s.  
  
“That’s quite a compliment coming from someone who was so greatly disturbed from my nude picture on your cell phone a few hours ago.” he laughed softly.  
  
Arthur exhaled, a smile on his face. “Disturbed in the best ways, Mr Eames. Now,” he said, patting his sticky hand against Eames’ thigh, “I think we could both do with a shower.”  
  
Eames laughed and took Arthur’s hand, bringing them both unsteadily to their feet. “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” he said, placing a hand on the other man’s back, and leading them both to the bathroom.  
  
Eames’ voice echoed down the hallway from the bathroom. “Arthur, have you ever played Rummy...?"


End file.
